


Messy (JeanMarco)

by AlleFurOne



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alive Marco Bott, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amputee Marco Bott, Jean Kirstein Being An Asshole, M/M, Modern Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan, POV Marco Bott, amputee Jean Kirstein
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-08-28 03:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16716035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleFurOne/pseuds/AlleFurOne
Summary: {Marco is a volunteer who helps people with prosthetics adjust to their new lives. His newest client, Jean, proves to be a bit more difficult.}





	1. A Difficult Client

The people seated in the white plastic chairs shifted around, eyes half-focused on me. I cleared my throat, and began talking, trying to make the small wooden podium I was speaking from seem more important, the center of attention.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen!"

My eyes drifted around the auditorium, catching people's gazes. I tried to give everyone a happy smile.

"My name is Marco Bodt, and I'm a volunteer here at the Prosthetic Rehabilitation Center of Arizona."

An average speech-starter. It sounded too canned. Perhaps a joke would lighten the mood.

"We're here to give a helping hand to those who've lost...er, hands. And other limbs."

Absolutely no laughter filled the room.

"Some of you in this room have prosthetics. You're the people who we service, the people we live to help. But we're not alone."

I gave a small pause after that statement, for effect. In the silence, a noise reached my ears, from outside the auditorium. It sounded like yelling, so I quickly continued speaking, to cover it up. 

"In this gathering, there's also friends and family, the people who sacrifice their time and resources to help their loved ones with disabilities."

The shouting outside was still going on. Some people at the back of the room were starting to glance back at the doors, getting distracted.

"Together, the patient, the family, and the volunteer can build a successful path to a new way of life. Support is the key word when it comes to the Prosthetic Rehabilitation Center of Arizona." I cleared my throat, trying to think of something else to say.

And then the door to the auditorium was thrown open. It slammed against the wall, and the whole crowd swiveled around in their chairs, surprised. A young man stood in the doorway, fists clenched.

The minute I saw him, any thoughts of my speech fell out the window. 

Tall, confident, filled to the brim with energy, anger, and ferocity. Obviously, he didn't have much of a conscience, interrupting the meeting. Brown hair, lighter on top, with a stylish undercut. My lips mouthed the next words I was planning, but the words didn't make it. Instead, I stared at him, surprised, heart pounding.

He wasted no time in slumping down in a chair at the back of the room. For a second, I wondered why he was here. Then I saw it, as the leg of his jeans lifted a little: a leg that wasn't his anymore. From the way he'd walked in, it was easy to see he wasn't quite used to it yet.

I coughed, trying to gather myself. My thoughts had been completely scattered, for no reason at all. I suppose a late visitor could be distracting, but my reaction seemed a bit overzealous. I mean, for god's sake, I was sweating. 

"We're gathered here today... to, um... here today to pair patients with hard-working volunteers..."

My speech tripped and stumbled. How? Public speaking had never been an issue for me. My eyes were drawn back to the late client every few seconds.

"I hope we can all reap the b-benefits of a healthy relationship between client and helper. Without further ado, I'm pleased to... uh, present the head of our organization."

I flashed a quick, hesitant smile at the crowd, then scooted away from the podium quickly. Collapsing into my seat, I released a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I glanced behind me at the young man who'd distracted me. He was staring blankly at the new speaker, arms folded over his chest.

Trying to calm my racing heart and take deep breaths, I turned my attention back to the speaker, smiling slightly.


	2. First Impressions

A backpack weighing heavily on my shoulders, I knocked on the door, putting on my best friendly smile.

I'd asked the director of the program specifically to be assigned to Jean Kirschtein. Well, I didn't know his name then. I'd asked to be assigned to the disruptive client who'd come late. The director quickly agreed, knowing I was his best volunteer. The one with the power to help, as he'd put it.

After quite a while of waiting in the hot sun of summer, the door creaked open. It was Jean, with the same angry glare in his eyes. It seemed like he'd just hopped out of bed, from his messy hair to the quickly-chosen sweatpants and tank top he was wearing.

"Good morning! My name is Marco, and I'm the volunteer from-"

"Yeah, shut up." he interrupted. "I get it, come in."

He gestured roughly to the inside of his apartment. I felt my heart speed up at the sound of his voice. So much better than I'd imagined. And those eyes, those determined eyes, that were so much more beautiful and fierce from close up. Thoughts of this kind filled my mind, so much that I was left staring at his face, unable to think of anything else.

In love? Probably not. This was purely a professional encounter.

"You gonna go or what?" Jean's voice jerked me back into reality, and I kind of stumbled forward into the apartment.

"Sorry." I tried a smile, but my face was too flushed and distracted. 

"It must be really hot outside." Jean remarked.

"Why do you say that?" I responded. No! Stupid question! Bad Marco!

"You look either like you've had a really bad sunburn, or you're dying of heatstroke."

Oh, shit. I held my hand up to my cheek. I must be blushing, because my face still felt very hot, even after a minute of being blasted by the harsh air conditioning of Jean's apartment.

"I'm fine, thank you." I smiled at him. Or at least attempted to. To put an end to this line of questioning, I flopped down on his couch without any invitation. There wasn't much space, between pillows, old clothes, remotes, and snacks. I managed to find the one person-sized space to sit in. 

Jean took a seat in the wooden chair across from me. He extended his left leg, putting it up on the coffee table, which was also covered in junk. The edge of his sweatpants lifted a bit to reveal a familiar sight: a prosthetic leg. 

"What do you want?" he questioned.

"Um... hold on." I fumbled around in my bag, until I found the paper folder with Jean's name on it. I opened it to the first sheet of paper, a sheet of initial questions, and clicked a pen.

"Alright, Jean. I have a few questions for you, and I'm going to need your honest answers. This is for your own good, so we can find a way to best help you."

"Hurry up." was his only reply.

"So, how long has it been since you got your prosthetic?"

"About a year, I think."

"A year? Why didn't you seek help earlier?" The question wasn't on my sheet, but I couldn't help asking.

"Cuz I don't need your fucking help. My mom made me do this." Jean's eyes narrowed and his tone became harsher. "Just get this over with."

"S-sorry." A stutter? I never stuttered. My heart was about to beat out my chest. I couldn't get on Jean's bad side. So far, I was doing a pretty good job of messing things up.

After a moment of painful, embarrassed silence, I came back to Earth and looked at my sheet for the next question. "What kind of help do you think you need from our association?"

"I don't know. I don't care. I just have to show my mom that I got some help so she'll stop bothering me."

I thought for a second. "I'm available to stay in your home for a month or so to help you adjust you to completing daily tasks with your disability."

Jean rolled his eyes. "Can you stop talking like a robot? Just say you wanna live in my apartment to carry me around. It's simpler."

"Jean, I... I'm not carrying you around. I want to help." I was overstepping my boundaries and I knew it. But I wanted Jean to trust me, to be my friend. More than any other client I'd ever helped.

"Fine. Fuck it. Do what you want."

Even though I knew it was going to be a difficult, rocky road to friendship, my brain felt like it had never experienced so much joy.


	3. Home Sweet Home

The very next day, I was standing on Jean's doorstep, carrying my luggage. Usually, it took me a day or two to get ready for a move-in job, but I'd felt so motivated last night, I'd packed everything within a few hours. I tried to get some sleep, but the excitement overwhelmed me, and so I wriggled around sleeplessly under my covers until morning. So I now stood by Jean's door, bags under my eyes, suitcases piled around me, knocking politely.

No one answered for a minute or so. Worriedly, I waited, listening for any sound of footsteps inside the apartment. Finally, I heard them, faint and uneven. Jean had apparently just awoken.

The door swung open to reveal him, wearing old, faded, red Christmas pajama pants, and only old, faded, red Christmas pajama pants. I found myself at a loss for words.

Jean said nothing too, stepping back into the apartment so I could enter. And enter I did, dragging my luggage behind me. 

"Where am I sleeping?" I asked. I was sure my face was a million different shades of red, as I tried to look anywhere but Jean's shirtless upper body.

"Huh." It was obvious Jean had not thought about this. "There's one bed. And the sofa."

I glanced over at the sofa. Just like yesterday, it was covered in junk, so buried under stuff that I didn't think I could ever dig it out. Jean looked it over, and sighed.

"Guess we'll have to share the bed." he said simply.

My mind filled with visions of squishing together on a tiny twin bed, trying not to fall off and running out of covers. Those dreams were dashed as Jean led me to the bedroom, where a large queen-size bed and huge cushy blanket awaited. It was no crisp, clean hotel bed, but it looked lived-in and loved. I dumped my stuff next to it.

Jean's room was a mess. It was like the sofa, but on a much larger scale. Clothes were everywhere, and it seemed like Jean hadn't done laundry in a very long time. Food and snacks sat in random locations. It seemed Jean enjoyed listening to music, as a multitude of CDs were also scattered across the floor. It was a sight to behold.

And then the smell hit me. Leftovers had obviously been left out here. Dirty, sweaty clothes that hadn't been washed. A generally musty smell. This place needed fresh air and a good power wash.

"Jean, how long has it been since you've taken a shower?"

"Uh... month, maybe?" He shrugged sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Go shower, please."

"Nah. You're not my mother. I'll do what I want." Jean flopped onto his bed, cuddling right back into the covers he'd recently emerged from.

"Jean. Take a shower." I put on my demanding mother voice. He groaned, rolling out of the bed, falling onto the floor.

"Alright, fine..." Lazily, he pulled himself up, leaving the room. I waited till I heard the water start to begin my attack.

I started with the food. Food that seemed to still be edible, I put back in the kitchen. Food that had become green and fuzzy, I threw in the garbage. Next, I sorted clothes. His dresser was nearly empty. Instead, all his clothes graced the floor. Grabbing a laundry basket, I carried all his clothes out into the living room, so I could wash them later. Things were starting to look a lot better.

As I was straightening out some photographs on his desk, I heard a loud crash in the living room. I jumped in surprise, then opened the door.

Jean was sprawled out across the floor, holding his forehead and cursing. It seemed like he'd tripped over something, then hit his head on the coffee table. I kneeled down next to him.

"Jean? You okay?"

"Ow... yes..." He groaned, sitting up. I put my arm around his shoulders, before realizing he wasn't wearing anything except a towel. It felt awkward touching his bare shoulders, but it was too late to withdraw now.

"What did you trip over?"

"I didn't. It was this damn leg." He aimed a weak punch at his prosthetic. It was more obvious now, as he wasn't wearing any pants over it.

"Hey, it's fine. Just yell if you need help, okay?" I kept my arm around his shoulders a bit longer than necessary. He smelled like peppermint shampoo and home.

Jean nodded slowly, then yawned. "God, I'm tired. I gotta take a nap." He stood, making his way to his room. He opened the door, and his jaw fell to the floor. "What the hell have you done?"

To me, it didn't seem that much cleaner, but to Jean, it must've been a huge change.

"I cleaned up a bit."

"You... what?" Jean's towel slipped for a second, and he quickly pulled it back up. I felt my face heating up. He didn't notice, staring in shock around his room.

"It needed cleaning." I said stupidly.

Jean's features suddenly became worried and angry. "I can't find anything now! What have you done?"

"Jean, it's okay! I'll help you!"

"Are you trying to ruin me so you can give me your stupid help?" He clenched his fists, and I took a sudden step back.

Then, he kind of deflated. "Sorry. I didn't mean to...uh..."

I was surprised. He hadn't apologized for his rudeness before. "Uh... it's fine." I stammered out.

He took another look around. "Where are my clothes?"

"I'm going to wash them."

"What am I going to wear in the meantime?"

"I think that's up to you."

Jean, looking around, found no clothes to wear, so I just drank in the sight of him in a towel as I left the room to wash his clothes.


	4. Spring Cleaning

I was scooting around Jean's apartment with a mop, making the floors shine. I felt very satisfied with my work. I'd done mostly  everything I'd planned, and I'd even saved the sofa from its buried state.

For some reason, Jean didn't mention me sleeping on the sofa again. So tonight was the first night I'd sleep with him.

Oh, that didn't sound right. Well, I'd be sleeping together in a bed with him. We'd be sleeping together. God, none of this sounded any better.

Once I was done mopping, I scouted out the kitchen, looking for dinner. There wasn't much, just a bunch of takeout leftovers. I'd have to go grocery shopping. I did locate some old hummus and some vegetables. I assumed Jean's mother had brought them at some point, but of course he hadn't eaten them. I arranged the hummus and vegetables nicely on the table, then called Jean for dinner.

He stumbled into the dining room, half-dressed in an old, ripped shirt and some sweatpants. "What the hell do you want?"

"It's dinner time." I answered simply, giving him a smile.

He took in the hummus and vegetables. "Uh... I'm not hungry."

"Of course you are. You haven't eaten all day." I sat down, motioning for him to do the same. He sat in his chair, and I noticed how much difficulty he had moving around. Usually, anyone who'd received a prosthetic would adjust to it easily, with other people's help. Unfortunately for him, it seemed like he'd pushed all the help away. I could see why my director thought of him as a difficult case. 

I helped myself to some vegetables, and Jean sullenly nibbled on a carrot. It was no candlelit romantic dinner, but I was content with this for now. 

I sat there, zoning out, leaving a piece of celery stranded between my teeth. I needed to straighten out my feelings. I'd been thinking crazy thoughts constantly, ever since I'd met Jean. He was beautiful, handsome, absolutely not modest about his body, so rude it made him endearing. But I couldn't love him. It was impossible. I'd only known him for a few days, and yet, I was already falling. I wanted to help him.

Now here's a fact about me: I knew I was gay. I'd known it ever since middle school, when I had the biggest crush on my friend Armin. Of course, I'd gotten over it with time. We weren't really meant for each other. The only problem: was Jean gay too? Or would he be upset if I told him?

I snapped out of my thoughts when Jean spoke. "You gonna eat? Or just stare at me?"

I'd been looking at his face the whole time. Oops. I quickly munched down the piece of celery I'd been working on and kept eating. I was happy to see that Jean was eating too. I'd have to get groceries later.

"Sorry. You got anything planned today? Because I need your help with cleaning." I immediately wanted to pull the words back into my mouth. They sounded too harsh.

"What are you, my fucking maid? I don't need cleaning."

"Jean, your apartment's a mess. You'll trip over something and hurt yourself."

"I guess so... I've got a friend coming over tonight. Please just stay out of my way."

"Okay..." 

We ate the rest of dinner in silence, awkwardly glancing up at each other. I kept looking at Jean, unable to resist, and he felt my gaze, looking up as well, but before he could catch me staring, I quickly turned my attention back to the baby carrots on my plate.

Later that night, Jean's friend knocked on the door. I was sitting on the couch, reading. Jean went to open the door, moving as quickly as he could. Which wasn't very fast.

Standing in the doorway was a girl about our age. My heart immediately sunk to my stomach. Jean's "friend".

She didn't smile when she saw me either. Her gaze was so serious, I doubt she ever smiled. "Jean, who is this? I thought you said we'd be alone."

Jean rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but no words came. 

"This is Marco. He's some volunteer thing. For my leg. My mom made me get help. I'm sorry, just ignore him."

The girl frowned down at Jean's prosthetic, barely showing from under his sweatpants, like she didn't want to be reminded of it. I hated her so much already. 

"I'm... Marco." I said, too late, too quietly.

"Mikasa." she returned.

"Let's go to my room..." Jean said, voice absolutely drained of any emotion or feeling. I almost stood and followed him, then realized he wasn't talking to me. 

He and Mikasa disappeared into his bedroom. My eyes absently wandered over the words on the page in front of me. I tried not to think about anything. But all I could see was Mikasa's shining black hair. I guess she was attractive.

After mindlessly turning a few pages, not taking in anything, I got up. I went to the kitchen, did the dishes, cleaned the fridge a bit more. I started polishing the countertops.

The thoughtless work calmed me down a bit. I tried to listen to the birds outside and tune out whatever noises might be coming from Jean's bedroom. Surprisingly, I didn't hear anything unpleasant. Perhaps the birds blocked it out. 

Scrubbing along, I discovered a photograph in a corner. It was of a very young Jean, smiling and playing with toys. But there was definitely something off about it.

Another photo sat next to it. It was Jean, perhaps in high school, with a friend. They were playing video games on a couch in his room, and almost seemed to be in a friendly argument. There was something off about this one too.


End file.
